


Special Angel

by Johnismyloveforever64



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Boys Kissing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:22:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnismyloveforever64/pseuds/Johnismyloveforever64
Summary: The big dance is coming up and Iris Caldwell asked Paul (sort of) to the dance. John is very jealous as he wishes he could go with Paul. Of course, they can't make their relationship public, so John has to make do with singing backup to Paul's heterosexual romance. Can short-tempered John cope?





	Special Angel

It was nearly summertime in Liverpool, and the anxious feeling that school was ending was everywhere. For seventeen John Lennon, this was especially true, as he prepared for his group, the Quarrymen, to play the end of school dance. Though, John was not known for doing things on time, and just a week before the dance, he finally sat down to prepare a set list.

“Do you think we should do Shake Rattle and Roll?” John asked his writing partner, sixteen year old Paul McCartney. They were both sitting on John’s bed; Paul had his notebook in his lap, while John had his guitar. 

“Definitely,” he agreed, with a little smile. “You know that’s a good make-out song.”

They shared a knowing look, recalling how fast-paced songs made John’s tongue extra feisty. Paul then quickly looked away. 

“Yeah, it’ll really make those throbbers pop.”

Paul swatted at him, but giggled. He glanced over at John, who was guarding his crotch with his guitar, and he wondered how accurate that statement was. So, he tentatively crawled his fingers up John’s hand, and waited for the cue. John returned it, crawling up to Paul’s elbow.

“You beautiful minx you,” he whispered. 

Paul giggled, and John looked up at his mate and kissed him on the lips. Paul pushed him down, so John was on his back, eyes closed, feeling Paul’s chest hovering over his.  
Then, he heard a knock on the door. they both froze, their hearts wrapping against their chests. John could feel his heartbeat in his ears. Gulping, he called out, “yes, Mimi,” his  
voice small. Paul hopped off of him and landed with a thud on the edge of the bed. 

“John, do you and your little friend want a snack?”

“No, we’re good. Thanks Mim.”

And it wasn’t until they heard her footsteps hit the bottom steps that either of them took a breath. 

“Do you think she’d care,” John wondered aloud, “if I had a girl in here? Like, we could just be making out and she might be appalled, but do you think she’d really care?”

Paul shrugged.

“My dad would. He’d go nuts.”

John shrugged. 

“Well,” John continued, pushing passed that, “We have to play Bee-Bop-a-Lula. That’s a right banger, in it?”

“It’s ‘your jam.’” 

They shared another knowing look, but Paul swiftly dropped his gaze. John noticed then that Paul was sitting right on the edge of the bed, about to fall off. He wondered why he was sitting knee to knee like they always did, sitting so close John could see all the colors of Paul’s eyes, even without his glasses. But he pushed passed that too. 

“We should do something by Elvis. Though, I don’t know if we can do it justice.”

“Eh-hm,” Paul mumbled. 

“Okay,” John huffed, “what do you want to do?”

“Um, why don’t we do some slow songs? It is a dance after all, and well, girls like to slow dance.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“Um, what about You’re My Special Angel by Bobby Helm?”

John looked at him like he was mad. 

“You’re joking right?”

Paul went a bit pink.

“Well, it’s a real good song to slow dance to.”

John considered that. 

“I don’t know, I only heard it once—and not on purpose.”

“It’s that song that goes, ‘you’re my special angel/through eternity, dah dah dah-dah daaah.”

Paul seemed to glow as he sang it, and swayed slightly. It made John flushed. 

“I-I guess we could do that one.”

“Great, because Iris was gonna die if we didn’t—“

“Who the hell is Iris?”

Paul went really pink, while dodging eye contact with John. Meanwhile, John scowled, chaffed. 

“She’s just some bird that,” he paused, running his fingers through his hair, “asked me to the dance.”

John froze, the scowl seeming to drop off his face and replaced by a confused, almost puppy-dog like look. He reminded Paul of Bambi after his mom got shot. He felt a knot in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, babe, but we haven’t had dates in months. I thought it was starting to look funny, you know?”

John stiffly nodded, busying himself with tuning his guitar. 

“John, love—“

“Just go with this Iris girl,” he mumbled, “We can survive one number without you.”

Paul nodded, his face hot. 

They finished their set-list quickly, listing a bunch of hits they could think of off the top of their head. They didn’t even question if they could play them or not. they just wrote them down quickly and moved on. After they listed a dozen more songs, Paul called it a night, and silently packed up his things and went home. 

**

After school the next day, Pete and John went down to the record store to pick up a copy of Your Special Angel. 

“It’s just such a crap record, you know,” John was saying as they walked up the aisles. Pete was half-listening as he had his eye on a beautiful blonde in a red polka-dot dress. She was hovering by the record players, her ankles crossed, her hips swaying. Pete kept watching, up until an equally blonde bloke came up behind her and kissed her neck. She spun around and fell into his arms. 

“It’s not even fair,” Pete scoffed. 

“I know! Just because chicks dig it doesn’t mean we should have to play it. And Christ, who asked for Iris’s opinion anyway. I bet she doesn’t even know two Eddie Cochran songs. I mean, come on…”

“John, mate?” Pete snapped his fingers in front of John’s face. John slapped them away. 

“The fuck? What?”

He nodded towards the blonde in the corner. 

“The best ones were taken," Pete remarked.

John watched as the couple held hands as they examined a record player. They occasionally paused to look deep into each other’s eyes. How many times, he thought, had he come to this shop with Paul, and not once could even look at each other too long. He silently seethed. 

“Yeah,” he spat, “it’s not fair.”

He grabbed the Bobby Helm record off the shelf and took off without paying. He didn’t even look back. 

**

Iris Caldwell was a pretty young blonde who lived on Vale Road, just around the corner from John, and up the street from Pete. She had seen Paul walking to the bus stop day after day for months, and she always wanted to say hi. Finally, on the advent of the big dance, she struck up a conversation with Paul.  
Paul was at the corner, smoking a ciggie, looking longing back at Menlove Ave. He was a little sweaty, but the sweat only made him look more like James Dean. Seeing this, Iris’s knees were weak. He gave her a polite smile and she beamed. 

“You go to Liverpool Institute, right?”

He nodded. 

“So, um, is your group performing at the dance?”

“Yeah, my English teacher’s John’s uncle, so it wasn’t hard to land the gig. It pays to be connected, right?”

She guffawed. 

“That’s so great!” She sighed. “Well, me and a few girlfriends are going as a group, but uh, if you have any breaks I’d love to share a dance.”

Paul glanced back down Menlove Ave, suddenly going quite stiff. 

“Uh, sure,” he answered awkwardly, “I’m sure I can finangle a few breaks.”

She beamed. 

“Well, tell the others that they have to play Your My Special Angel. It’s my absolute favorite!”

“Will do.”

He gave her a half-salute and walked off. 

“I’ll see you around, okay?” He called back. 

She nodded, watching him go dreamily.

**

Every night leading up to the dance, the Quarrymen practiced in Pete’s air-raid shelter. Normally, the practices involved some beer, a few pranks, and a lot of banter. But those last couple of practices was very short and to the point. John uncharacteristically had little to say. he just came in, went over the set list, counted backwards from three, and on they went. Pete was especially suspicious, as John and Paul had really taken a liking to each other. Normally they huddled together, singing into an invisible microphone, often sharing knowing looks and glances. But lately, they stood far apart, barely looking at one another. He wanted to ask what happened, but he figured Paul had insulted him and John just needed to sulk for a week. 

At their last practice, though, the tension hit an all time high. John arrived late, as usual, his guitar slung over his shoulder and beer on his breath. Eric, Colin, Pete, Paul, and George were sitting in the corner, chatting about the dance. John looked like he wanted to say something, but just migrated to his usual spot and started tuning his guitar.

“So, I heard you’re going with Iris, eh?” Eric said to Paul, elbowing him in the ribs. 

“Not exactly—I mean, I’m gonna be on stage most of the night.”

“Yeah, but he’s picking her up.”

John struck an obnoxious note on his guitar. Everyone stopped for a second and then turned their attention back to Paul.

“Does that mean you’re taking her home?” Eric continued, elbowing him once again. Paul scooted away. 

He shrugged. 

“Depends on how well we play Special Angel, I guess.”

The others laughed.

“Alright, that’s it!” John shouted, the sound echoing off the metallic walls. “We have less than 24 hours to prepare for this dance, and Eric your banjo solo still sucks.”

Eric muttered something rude, picked up his banjo, and took his place. The rest of the group followed suit, and a minute later they went right into Bee-Bop-a-Lula like nothing happened. Pete, meanwhile, eyed John suspiciously the whole practice. He could smell the beer and figured that’s where his temper came from, at least he hoped.

**

The night of the dance came and Mimi was ripe with excitement. She was happy that he finally got a gig that wasn’t at some lousy dance hall downtown, but at a respectable school gym. She was also excited that he was wearing a suit—no bolo tie, no leather or jeans, but an actual suit. The dance committee had made it mandatory that they wear clean-cut suits. John moped about this for days, especially after finding out that his old suit didn’t fit (being that the last time he wore it Churchill was still PM). So, to his disappointment, he had to go to a tailor. But Mimi was all smiles when he came downstairs in his new suit, all ready to go. 

“Do I look ridiculous?”

She swatted him with a tea towel.

“Of course not! You look divine.”

He blushed. She snapped a picture of it.

“Mimi!”

“What? It’s your first dance.”

“Not exactly—I’m the entertainment.”

“Still, it’s a big day.”

And she snapped another picture. He noted that she muttered, ‘if only he had a date,’ under her breath. He scowled and popped his collar, leaving promptly.  
A few miles down the road, Paul stood in his foyer, also in a suit, beside Iris Caldwell. She looked lovely in soft curls and a pink gown that stuck straight out. Paul eyed that thing, fearing it’d poke him in the eye at some point. His father stood across from him, his hands stuffed in his pockets, eyeing this Caldwell girl. Michael, Paul’s brother, sat on the step, in his pajamas. 

“Well kids,” his dad said, clapping his hands, “I guess you are off.”

“But we haven’t even taken any pictures!” Iris exclaimed. Paul went a bit pink. 

Paul’s dad picked up his camera, and told them to get ready. Iris gave a movie star smile, while Paul forced himself to smile, looking like he had just ate a bad radish. His dad either didn’t notice or didn’t care and snapped two quick photos, all while Paul’s brother giggled. Paul gave him a threatening look and Michael stuck his tongue out at him.

“Now we’re off?” Paul asked her, sounding like he was going off to have a shot. 

Iris squeezed his hand and pulled him out the door. 

“Send me the negatives!” She called out from the drive. Paul couldn’t think of a more appropriate word choice. 

__

“…rock-rock-rock gotta rock rock around the clock tonight…”

The gym was packed with teenagers, dancing together. some girls sat on the side, waiting for some guy to dance with them, including Iris, who watched longingly as Paul stood at the microphone beside John, belting away another tune, and completely ignoring her. 

“I like to think he’s singing to me,” she told to her friend Cecile. Cecile was facing the chaperone’s table, sighing. 

“It’s not exactly a romantic tune,” muttered a bitter Cecile. 

“Well, he hasn’t gotten to the good ones yet, and he promised he would.”

Cecile still thought she was nuts, and resumed staring longingly at their English teacher, Miss Towers. 

Up on stage, John and Paul faced each other, singing song after song. Every other song, John got to sing lead and he got to pick from the set-list. He kept picking the rowdiest numbers, and the ones he and Paul normally make out to. Under the lights, he could see Paul sweating bullets. He occasionally glanced down, hoping to see a bulge in his pants.  
After John did a rousing version of Wild One, which made three guys in the audience cum right in their slacks, Paul got up there and decided to do a number they hadn’t rehearsed. 

“Let’s do I Put a Spell on You.”

John looked at him like he was crazy.

“Are you kidding? That’s the dirtiest song I know. And I include all the ditties about whores.” 

Paul winked at him and counted in the band. Seconds later, Paul launched into a hoarse rendition of the Screaming Jay Hawkins hit. The teens in the audience went wild. They  
started doing really fast-paced kicks and spins. Kids were shaking their hips like Elvis, and a few girls lost bows on their dresses because they were moving so fast. A few kids were even making out, right in the middle of the dance floor. John glanced at Paul, who was giddy with excitement. He was sweaty and happy and beautiful. John felt a real throbber in his pants. He looked longingly at the couples out on the dance floor, kissing passionately and without fear of retribution. Sure, a few of them got smacked with a newspaper, and one couple had to go into their respective locker rooms to shower off. But there were no gasps. There was not even much of a shock, not even from the adults in the room. and most importantly, no teddy boys, clustered around the gym, would break anyone’s jaws over it. the couples were safe to go on in their union, while John had to remain on the stage, his lover only inches away, and not move a muscle. 

After the song was over, everyone was so exhausted that they called for a break. 

“Go find Iris,” George told Paul. Paul nodded, threw off his guitar, and ran off the stage. John could hear her girlish shrieks from the stage. He seethed. 

The teachers didn’t let them stop completely, and told them to take breaks in shifts. 

“So, I guess we should just play Special Angel now?” Pete suggested. John glared at him. “What? I didn’t make the set-list.”

John scoffed.

“What? I know you don’t like it, but Paul specifically requested it.”

“Yeah, don’t you want him to get laid ton—“

And John swiftly punched Eric Griffiths in the face, causing him to fall backwards into Colin’s drum kit. 

“Oh shit!” Colin called out, backing away. Eric laid somewhere between the snare drum and the bass drum, a symbol over his head. 

“Ow,” he moaned.

The rest of the group gathered around him, asking if he was okay. He waved them off. John stood off to the side, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t even hear the shocked awes from the crowd or the gasps, and he definitely didn’t hear the headmaster calling his name. 

“Lennon, off the stage, now!”

He was practically dragged off the stage, nearly dropping his guitar in the process. 

“Get off! Get off!” The headmaster had him by the collar and refused to let up. he then tossed him out the back door, leaving him on his ass. And his new suit was ruined.  
Muttering obscenities, he made his way home. 

Meanwhile, back at the dance, the commotion on the stage settled down as Eric Griffiths went off to find the nurse. Colin went with him, so Paul was ordered back on stage. Iris, annoyed she didn’t get her dance, stormed off, and Paul didn’t even look back.

“Aren’t you going to go to her?” George asked him. He shrugged.

“She’s just a bird, George. There’s a million like her.”

But despite his words, his mood had dropped considerably. His sweaty face no longer seemed the result of roaring good time, but of exhaustion and sick, as his face had turned quite pale and slightly green. And as he stood at the microphone, readjusting his guitar, he seemed quite shaky. 

“Paul, if you’re unwell, maybe you should go,” George said softly. But he shook his head.

“Let’s just do Special Angel. It’s close enough, in it?”

They went right into what John had once referred to as ‘trite trash’, but instead of feeling nothing, as John had told him would only result from something as sappy as this, he felt this overwhelming sense of longing. He knew he was right about Iris. He honestly couldn’t remember what her face looked like now that he wasn’t staring right at it. but John’s face had yet to leave his mind’s eye. 

As soon as they got through a bluesy rendition of the Penguins classic, Paul was white as a sheet. Pete saw this and something seemed to click in his head. He knew that he barely knew Iris, and even still, she could hardly be that upset; he was just doing his job. She’d get over it. So he knew there had to be something else—or someone.

“Paul,” he said softly, “I think you should go to him.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

“Just,” he paused, unsure how to form the words. He himself was going a bit pale, “please. He’ll be sick without you.”

“Do you mean it?” He asked breathlessly. Pete nodded. “Now go.”

Paul took off then without an explanation. Luckily, Eric and Colin returned from the nurse, so the dance went on as scheduled. But as for Paul, he didn’t even look back. 

**

Paul raced to Menlove Ave, running faster than he ever had before. By the time he arrived at 251, he was out of breath and sweaty. And when Mimi answered the door she was shocked to see him.

“Paul? What are you doing here?”

He realized then that he hadn’t thought of an excuse. 

“Uh, I just need to talk to John—it’s about the dance.”

“Well, whatever happened it must be serious.” She leaned in close to him, “he’s listening to Bing Crosby.”

“That is serious,” Paul replied, coming inside. 

He could hear Crosby’s moody tunes from downstairs. He raced upstairs, feeling like a doctor who was just told their patient has spots. He turned a corner and found John lying  
on his bed, his suit jacket off, his tie loosened, his cheeks stained with tears.

“Oh John,” he breathed, his heart sinking. John turned away from him, facing the wall.

“Shouldn’t you be running after Iris?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t love Iris. I don’t even like her. I don’t even know her last name!”

“So, I fell in love with you before I knew yours.”

Paul tried to stroke John’s hair but he swatted him away. 

“John, I love you. I don’t know how else to prove it to you.”

“You know what,” John said, sitting up, “I don’t even care that you went to the dance with her. I don’t even care that you wanted to dance with her. But why did you have to pick  
that song.”

“But you said it was trite trash.”

“But it’s so,” he rolled his eyes at his own words, “romantic.”

Paul squeezed his hand. 

“John, I’m sorry—“

“Forget it.”

He snapped his hand away and rolled back over. Paul stepped back, feeling defeated. Then, he got an idea. He started rifling through John’s records, found the perfect one, and  
put it on. 

“…angel, angel, ooh-ooh, angel…” 

John sat up, looking up at Paul. Paul extended a hand. John took it and let Paul pull him out to the center of the room. Paul pulled him in close, resting his head on his shoulder.  
they held hands tightly, and slowly swayed to the music. And as the chorus came around again, Paul spun John around. And once he was safely back in his arms, Paul started to sing in his ear. 

“Come on, you know the words.”

“You are my special angel!” John belted.

And giggling, they fell onto the bed, still in each other’s arms. They were inches away from each other, and slowly, they leaned in, and kissed just as the song was ending. But to Paul’s shock, John started crying. He pulled away quickly.

“John, what’s wrong?”

“For a second,” he cried, “I actually felt like a normal couple. That our love was just like everybody else’s.”

Paul wiped the tears from his eyes and then pulled him in for a hug. 

“Well, just know that anytime you want to feel normal, that I am here. and if,” he paused, his voice thick, “you want to trade in for an Iris Caldwell, I completely understand.”

“No,” John insisted, kissing Paul on the cheek, “you are better than every Iris Caldwell in the world. You are,” he paused, thinking of something that Bobby Vinton would say, “the  
only one I’ll ever want, and the only one I’ll ever have.”

John flushed and kissed his lover, feeling as safe as ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to wish everyone a happy McLennon day! Their relationship is so special and I hope this fic demonstrated that. These two really deserve a day dedicated to their very special relationship.


End file.
